


second firsts

by thewordsofalullaby



Series: green light [2]
Category: New Girl (TV 2011)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Post-Canon, Post-S6, lots of important talks and clowns being clowns, what happened post-elevator scene and beyond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewordsofalullaby/pseuds/thewordsofalullaby
Summary: Jess wakes up first, to a dimly lit room, cardboard boxes half-open and scattered all over her floor, and the weight of Nick’s arm firmly tucked around her waist, his face pressed up against her hair, breathing gently and evenly on her neck.a.k.a. what happened after the elevator scene and beyond.(Post-S6/Pre-S7 fic; mostly canon-compliant)
Relationships: Cece Parekh/Schmidt (New Girl), Jessica Day & Cece Parekh, Jessica Day & Nick Miller, Jessica Day & Schmidt (New Girl), Jessica Day/Nick Miller, Nick Miller & Schmidt (New Girl), Winston Bishop & Jessica Day, Winston Bishop & Nick Miller, Winston Bishop/Aly Nelson
Series: green light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086224
Comments: 87
Kudos: 76





	1. jess; first morning and (un)shed tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Picks up the morning after the S6 finale. It's not essential to read Part 1 first, but this does contain several references to things that happened in it - you have been warned!**
> 
> \---

Jess wakes up first, to a dimly lit room, cardboard boxes half-open and scattered all over her floor, and the weight of Nick’s arm firmly tucked around her waist, his face pressed up against her hair, breathing gently and evenly on her neck. It takes her a second to get her bearings because it’s been a while since she’s been back in this room, let alone had someone else sharing her bed, but then everything from yesterday comes flooding back, all at once: Winston, Aly and Cece helping her move out of the loft, the series of miscommunications that led to them finding out that Cece is pregnant (!!), being too scared to tell Nick how she felt and leaving, deciding that she actually _wasn’t_ too scared and chasing him down… and then... an earnest Nick in the elevator, saying the words she’s been fantasising him saying to her for months on end, Nick telling her that he'd made an entire pinboard (with yarn!) to try and make sense of his feelings and being open enough to actually _talk about them_ , Nick listening to the song she’d written for him and beaming up at her as if it was the best thing he’d ever heard, Nick pressing soft kisses against her neck as he pulled her flush against him in the early hours of the morning—

Nick. Nick. _Nick._

Jess twists in his grip, enough so that she can make out his face, and presses a light kiss against his forehead, and then another, still incredulous that this is _real_ and that he’s here and that he loves her. It's just, she's thought about this for so long, convinced herself that it was never going to happen and that he was happy with Reagan, that now that she's actually here, his arms wrapped around her as if he doesn't want to let her go, even in his sleep, it's almost...jarring, but in the best way possible. She smoothes a hand against his cheek and gently traces his jawline with her fingers until she feels him stirring at her touch, his breathing getting unsteadier.

Nick loosens his hold around her waist as he wakes up and rolls away so that he can raise a hand and sleepily rub it across his face, blinking blearily at the ceiling a couple of times. She watches, lips quirking, as he frowns for a split-second, clearly confused as to why he's not in his own bedroom, but then he turns back around to face her, a slow grin spreading over his features as his gaze lands on her.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice still hoarse from sleep, then reaches a hand and scratches the back of his neck a little embarrassedly as he realises that she'd been watching him. “I was kinda worried that I’d dreamt everything.”

She chuckles, tilts her head a little, and then leans over to hover above him, dropping her head down to kiss him, her hands landing either side of his face. Nick kisses her back lazily, gently sliding a hand into her hair, holding her in place, and it’s easy, and natural, and it’s just… _them_.

“Yeah, me too,” she admits, almost shyly, pulling away from him just enough to see his eyes.

Nick grins back, his eyes warm, reaches up to kiss her again, and then he pushes her back, rolls half on top of her, burying his face into her shoulder. She smiles, snakes an arm across his back, then starts giggling as he squirms slightly at her touch, mumbling inaudible things into her skin. They lie like that for a while in a peaceful silence, Nick breathing softly against her, his eyes falling closed again, while she traces nonsensical patterns against his side, humming the song she’d written for him under her breath.

It’s oddly familiar, in the best of ways, but at the same time, also new, and weird, and just a touch scary. What Nick had said to her last night was right: they’re _not_ the same people they were anymore. She’s no longer overly fixated on achieving her five-year life plan, because none of that really matters if she doesn’t have the right person to share it all with, and he’s no longer shirking (all) responsibilities like he used to, now spending his days working incredibly hard on his book. All those fears and obstacles that they’d had the first time around aren’t as present as they used to be, but the way she feels about him hasn’t changed one bit; if anything, it's stronger than ever. He’s the man she wants, she's 100% sure of it.

“What are ya thinking about?” Nick asks against her shoulder, his voice half-muffled and still laced with sleep.

  
“Nothing,” she replies, but then he shifts his head, twists just enough so that he can raise an eyebrow at her, and she knows he knows her well enough to realise she’s not telling the whole truth. “You.”

“Yeah?”

She laughs as he drops his head back down onto her shoulder again and she raises a hand to card it through his hair.

“It’s just… I’ve spent the last few months thinking about this and now I’m here and you’re here, and…it’s, I don’t know, weird?”

“But…it’s a good weird, right?”

Jess grins, tugs at his hair gently until he lifts his face up, enough that she can sneak a kiss.

“ _Definitely_ a good weird,” she tells him, presses a hand to his face, smoothing her fingers across his cheek... and then he grins at her, almost wickedly, pressing her down into the bed, and she’s suddenly laughing and she can't stop, up until the point his hands slip underneath the hem of her shirt.

They have a lot of things to figure out still, but that can wait. For now, she’s just happy to be in this bed with him, listening to him mumble how much he loves her into her skin, her hands softly tugging at his hair.

* * *

“Nick, are you in there? Firstly, _mazel tov_ to both of you, I really mean it, but…I need to speak to Nick—”

Nick groans, and she can feel the face he’s pulling even before she sees it. She chuckles at the familiar sight, reaches out and presses a finger to either side of his lips, nudging the corners back up, but his face just crumples up even more. She giggles, drops her hands back down, watching in amusement as Schmidt’s knocks start getting louder and Nick’s face starts getting grumpier.

“You think he’ll go away if we ignore him?” Nick asks, not bothering to keep his voice down, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks at her.

  
(“I can _hear you_ , Nicholas! You know how thin the walls in this loft are!”)

“Probably not,” she replies, because it’s _Schmidt_ and he's never gone away that easily, then tilts her head slightly, the sound of Schmidt’s voice jogging something important in her memory, buried beneath all the declarations of _love_ and soft kisses and whispered confessions.

“Nick, when was the last time you spoke to Schmidt?”

Nick frowns slightly at the question, shrugs.

“Uh, yesterday morning? He came with me to the publisher meeting and then he just…disappeared, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

(“Nick, if you don’t open the door in the next five seconds, I’m just going to walk in. Look, I wouldn’t be here unless it was important; it’s not like I want to interrupt you and Jess’ _reunion_. Trust me, that's not something I want to see.”)

Jess closes her eyes briefly at Schmidt’s horrendous choice of words, but… Schmidt really does have something important to say so she leans back, gives Nick a knowing, secretive smile and reaches up to pat him on the cheek.

“You should go and talk to him,” she says, and then raises her voice so it’s loud enough that Schmidt will be able to hear her, though she half-suspects that his ear is currently pressed right up against her door anyway. “Schmidt, he’ll be out in five.”

Nick shoots her a curious look then, tilts his head questioningly, but she just gives him another smile and reaches over him to grab his shirt, slipping it over her shoulders.

“I believe that’s mine, Day,” he comments as he watches her fumble with the buttons, but he’s grinning as he says it, his eyes all dark and intense, and she’s pretty sure that Nick would have gotten her _out_ of the shirt again in record time if Schmidt didn’t start banging on the door once more.

...but, he does, and the knocking is starting to get unnecessarily aggressive, so she just laughs, shoots him a wink. 

“Not anymore, Miller. Not anymore.”

* * *

Cece’s sitting on the couch as they emerge, right next to an impatient-looking Schmidt, his feet tapping restlessly on the floor. Schmidt instantly gets up as he spots Nick, offers them his hearty _congratulations_ once more and then drags Nick into his own bedroom and slams the door behind them.

“Sorry, Jess,” Cece apologises profusely as she takes a seat next to her on the couch. “I tried to stop him from coming over so soon to give you guys some more time to figure things out, but…you know.”

Jess laughs lightly, shakes her head, waves a hand dismissively in her direction.

“It’s fine,” she says, and it really is. Cece's _glowing_ , and she looks even more radiant than normal, and just thinking about the fact that her and Schmidt are going to have a baby makes her want to sing, and dance, and run to the balcony and shout it out for everyone to hear. “Honestly, I’m surprised that you managed to hold him off for so long.”

“Me too,” Cece replies, then narrows her eyes slightly, looking her up and down, her lips quirking in recognition. “So…that’s definitely _not_ your shirt so I take it things went well with Nick?”

Jess blushes, glancing down at herself shyly, slowly rolling the sleeves up as she starts to fill Cece in on yesterday’s events. Cece leans back as she listens, her smile getting wider as Jess continues, reacting at all the right points.

“I’m really happy for you. For both of you,” she says as Jess finishes her story, then rolls her eyes a little. “Seriously, Nick was acting so damn weird when you were in Portland that we all figured that it was only a matter of time before he cracked and realised what was really going on. We even had a text-chain about it with Winston and Aly.”

“Nick’s always weird,” she retorts, smiling softly at the thought.

He's told her bits and pieces of what went on when she was away and the lengths that he went to in order to try and figure out why she'd left, and part of her wishes that she'd been here to witness it.

“Yeah, I know, but this was really weird, even for Nick.”

They’re interrupted then by the sound of loud, high-pitched crying coming from Nick’s room, and they both glance at each other, matching looks of amusement on their faces.

“Who do you think’s crying?”

“It’s 100% Schmidt,” Cece says, her lips quirked, shaking her head affectionately. “You should have seen him this morning. We bumped into Outside Dave and he started sobbing right there on the sidewalk before he could even get the words out. Took a good half hour before he was calm enough to make it up here.”

“I don’t know,” Jess counters, pursing her lips slightly and tapping her chin in thought. She knows how much Nick loves Schmidt beneath all his grumpiness, and she knows that he's going to be ecstatic at the news. “I mean, Schmidt's _definitely_ crying, but I’d put some money on Nick too.”

* * *

In the end, she's proven right: Nick and Schmidt emerge from the room several minutes later, each with matching pairs of watery, red-rimmed eyes, though they both adamantly deny the fact that they’ve been crying when she calls them out on it. She grins at the sight, her heart all warm and fuzzy, reaching out and pulling Nick down beside her on the couch, swiping a finger under his left eye and wiping away a stray tear.

“That wasn’t a tear, Jess,” he protests quickly as she holds up her finger to his face as proof, one eyebrow raised, trying her best to stifle her laughter. “I swear, I _didn’t_ cry.”

Jess leans in, until she’s close enough that Nick’s eyes widen at the proximity, and he tries to slide his hand into her hair, but she pulls away just in time, shakes her head a little.

“Just admit it, Miller,” she teases lightly, laughing as he pulls a face at her and tries to reach for her again, squatting his hands away. “Just admit that you cried. It’s a perfectly normal reaction; I mean, Aly and I cried. _Winston_ cried.”

Nick pulls a face again, but then he lets out a slow, deep sigh, shaking his head in exasperation as she continues to twist out of his touch.

“Okay, okay, fine, I _might_ have cried,” he concedes eventually, holding his hands up in surrender, and then rolls his eyes affectionately at her as she beams down at him triumphantly, her hands on her hips, “but...only a little.”

She raises an eyebrow. He's always been a terrible liar, especially to her.

“Oh, come here already,” he says, with another roll of his eyes, and this time she lets him pull her towards him until she’s all pressed up against his chest, his mouth finding her lips.

She’s missed this; missed him.

(So, so much.)


	2. nick; fancy plates and organic syrup

It doesn’t take very long before Schmidt and Cece have said their goodbyes and left the loft as it turns out that Schmidt stubbornly refused to call either of their parents until they’d broken the news to him, and they have plenty more phone-calls to make (and plenty more tears to shed). Schmidt makes them both promise to come over to theirs later that evening for a (likely excessive and over-the-top) celebration party though, swearing on the life of his first child (“Schmidt, _no_ ,” Cece cuts in, but it’s too late) that it’ll be the party of the century.

(“Jess, can you bake a cake for it? I’ve got some ideas in mind, but I’ll text them to you later. Nick, just…bring yourself, but wear something nice—actually, Jess, pick out an outfit for him, please. He can’t turn up like that; I won’t allow it.”)

…and then, it’s just him and Jess, staring at each other in the hallway of the loft, just like they’ve done a million times before.

“So, they’re really having a baby, huh?” Nick says, still slightly in shock by the news, but he can’t help himself from smiling as he imagines a baby _Schmidt_ in his head. “Do you reckon it’ll need a douchebag jar? Like, a tiny one?”

Jess chuckles, raises an eyebrow and slowly crosses her arms.

“Um, why would the jar need to be tiny?”

“Because, Jessica, it’s a _baby_ ,” he retorts, but he already knew he was on the losing side as soon as she crossed her arms and stared defiantly up at him, so his words come out a bit weak.

Jess smirks slightly, and then it’s just…silent. The hallway suddenly feels uncomfortably big now that it’s just the two of them completely alone and they’ve gotten all the important confessions and grand gestures out of the way, and he’s at a bit of loss about what to do. It's irrational, because he knows how he feels now and he’s pretty sure he knows how she feels, but, yet, as Jess put it this morning when they were still safely tucked away in their own little bubble, it’s…weird. A _great_ weird, yeah, but still kinda…weird.

They've gone from not having seen each other (or really spoken to each other) in weeks to waking up next to one another and saying _I love you_ in the space of a few hours, and his mind is still trying to figure out how to navigate this new dynamic. This morning was surprisingly easy, and comfortable, and just like it used to be, but, at the same time, he knows at the back of his head that everything is entirely different. Where do they go from here? Do they…go on a first date? …or do they skip all that because they already know each other so well and they’ve been through that all before? Does he help her finish unpacking _her_ bedroom and switch back and forth between their rooms every night like they used to? Is she…his girlfriend now? …or is it way too soon for labels?

They're different. Their lives are different. Even the people around them are different. Schmidt’s no longer trying his _up_ most to break them apart, but he’s happy and settled, and he’d cried even harder (if that was even possible) when Nick had given him the brief run-down of what had happened in the elevator, smiling through his tears. Winston’s got Aly now, and that clown has apparently spent the last few weeks ‘pranking’ (note the emphasis on the _quote marks,_ please) him in an attempt to make him face up to all his buried unresolved feelings for Jess. Cece pulled him aside earlier and said that she was glad that he'd finally ‘got his shit together’ (“hey!”) and that she was happy for him, but also that she'd kill him – very, very slowly – if he screwed this up. He's wholly determined to make this work, he really is, but the fact that everyone else outside of just the two of them clearly wants them to work as well definitely adds some unneeded pressure into the mix. He doesn't want to screw this up, and he's gonna do everything he can not to, but things _are_ different. Plus, it hasn’t been that long since he broke up with Reagan and realised what, or _who_ , he really wanted, and he still doesn’t know the whole story behind what Jess was doing out in Portland, and—

“—Don’t,” Jess says, biting her lip as she watches him, brow slightly furrowed.

He blinks, shaking his head a couple of times as her voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Don't…what?”

She gives him a soft smile, shifts onto her tiptoes, and reaches up to tap the side of his head with one finger.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Miller,” she teases gently, her lips quirked, and he exhales slowly as he meets her eyes. She smiles again, this time a knowing smile as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and he forces himself to relax because this is _Jess_ , after all, and Jess always knows the right thing to do.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he counters after second, his voice coming out half a pitch higher than he intended, but she just grins at him again, taps the side of his head once more, and it’s enough to make his nerves temporarily subside.

“Let’s just have breakfast, okay?” Jess says slowly, reaching out and grabbing his hand, tugging him towards the kitchen area, intertwining their fingers. He glances down at their hands, a slow smile creeping over his face, and—yeah, he can— _they_ can do this. “We can figure out what comes next afterwards.”

* * *

It’s notably easier after that, maybe because now he has something concrete to focus on and there’s less uncertainties about what he should say or do. He offers to cook them up some bacon and eggs, but Jess firmly pushes him away from the hob, claiming that she’s the better cook out of the two of them. He doesn’t protest, at least not very hard, because aside from The Sauce, she really _is_ the better cook. Instead, he focuses on carefully pouring out two glasses of orange juice (and doesn’t spill any: success!), and then carries them over to the dining table, his lips twisted into the slightest of smiles as he listens to Jess hum to herself over the sizzling of the pan and the smell of bacon filling the air.

He’s midway through deciding whether he should risk pulling out the set of fragile, intricate, (probably) ridiculously expensive plates that Schmidt left behind and whether they need _napkins_ , when Jess clears her throat lightly from behind him, one eyebrow raised.

“You want to have breakfast at the table? With the…fancy plates?” Jess asks, a bemused expression crossing her face as she stares at him.

Nick runs a hand through his hair, shifting slightly, because, well, when she puts it like _that_ , he guesses it’s a little out-of-character, especially for him; he usually eats his breakfast straight out of the pan (on the rare occasions when he actually bothers to cook instead of just going for cereal), and he definitely doesn’t bother setting the table for it… but, this is breakfast with _Jess_ , and that makes all the difference in his head.

“Yeah,” he says a little awkwardly, after a beat, shrugging lightly and breaking eye-contact. “I’m, uh, pulling out all the stops here. Prepare to be charmed, Jessica Day.”

Jess raises an eyebrow again, then shakes her head at him, chuckling to herself as she turns back towards the frying pan.

“I mean, _I’m_ the one that’s doing the cooking and those are Schmidt’s plates, but—”

He grins, because everything is somehow less strange when they’re bickering with each other like they’ve always done, tries to curl an arm around her waist and spin her back around, but—

“—Whoa, hey, Nick, _Nick_ , it’s going to burn!” Jess protests, but she’s laughing as she pushes him away, eyes gleaming, and if he died right this second, he’d die a happy man. (Not that he’s planning on dying any time soon, but you know, _figuratively_.)

* * *

Winston and Aly walk into the loft while they’re finishing their breakfast. They mostly eat in a comfortable silence, both just glancing up every now and then and _grinning_ at each other across the table because he just can’t help himself and he guesses she can’t too. He tries to eat slowly, mostly because he wants this moment to last, but also because he’s not entirely sure what comes _after_ breakfast, those unanswered questions from earlier resurfacing in his head. It’s a Saturday and aside from Schmidt and Cece’s party later, he has no plans whatsoever, and he’s assuming that Jess doesn’t either, seeing as she was planning on _moving_ _out_ yesterday. Speaking of which—

“—Jess, where, uh, where exactly were you planning on going yesterday?”

Jess glances up from where she’s been idly scrolling through her phone, frowns a bit, but he can tell from the way she’s biting her lip that she’s nervous.

“What do you mean?”

“The moving truck,” he clarifies, and he’s not really sure what exactly he’s asking, words spilling freely from his mouth. “Where were you planning on driving to? I know you said that you were probably going to go to Portland, but, I mean, you weren’t going to go to Portland with all your stuff _last night_ , were you?”

Jess licks her lips, then slowly shakes her head, expression unreadable.

“No, I rented a storage unit, and I was going to leave that stuff there until I, um, you know...figured things out.”

“Oh,” he says, a little hoarsely, his mouth suddenly very dry. “That makes sense.”

Jess leans forward, her expression still unreadable (maybe a little sad? hurt? uncomfortable? or, a mixture of all three?), and it’s weird, because he thought they’d gotten all the hard stuff mostly out of the way yesterday, but—apparently not. He _wants_ to talk about everything though, even if it’s difficult, because he wants to do everything differently this time. Better.

She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, Winston and Aly have joined them on the table, oblivious to the slightly tense atmosphere between them.

“What are you two up to today?”

Jess glances at him, searching his face for a second, but he just shrugs, because he _doesn’t know_ , and that’s kinda what he’s struggling with. She smiles softly, reaches over the table and grabs his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as if she can read his mind, and he returns the smile, gently slipping his fingers in between hers.

( _“I have your back, no matter what, no matter how stupid it gets. I’m going to be there, and I’m going to hold your hand.”)_

“Well,” Jess starts, drawing out the word slightly. “Schmidt wants me to bake a cake for their party later, so I’m probably going to need to go to the farmers’ market. Schmidt wants it to be flavoured with a very specific organic caramel syrup to represent their ‘union’, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“Organic…caramel syrup?”

Jess shrugs, and he guesses that reaction is about right. This _is_ Schmidt, after all.

“You okay to come with?”

“I’ll go anywhere where there’s free samples,” he tells her, running his thumb over the back of her hand, and though it’s not an incorrect statement (because, uh, hello? Free samples!), he also kinda, sorta means that he’ll go anywhere that she goes.

Winston leans over the table then, shoots him a conspiratorial look, and he’s already opening his mouth to firmly say _no_ because he knows exactly what Winston is about to ask and he doesn’t want any part of it.

“No, man, I’m not buying stuff to make those girly drinks for ya; for the last time, you can’t handle it and you get way too weird when you drink them,” he tells him firmly, pulling a face at the memory. 

Winston frowns, reaches over to slap him across the cheek (“hey, pal, _not cool_!”) and then turns to Jess instead, eyes wide and pleading.

“Jess?”

Jess purses her lips, shrugs, then turns to face him, eyes glinting in a way that makes him want to say _yes_ , to anything, his heart doing a flip in his chest.

“Nick, he just really likes them. You’re really good at making those drinks—”

“—No, no, Jess, don’t try and— He gets _so weird_ every time!”

“Oh, come on, Nick. I have to see this,” Aly cuts in, with a slight roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, Nick, just make them for me. You owe me one.”

“For what?!”

“The pranks! The _coin_. The _mug_. The _puzzle_ …well, okay, maybe not for the puzzle, but still,” Winston replies, tapping the table emphatically as he lists out each item.

Nick exhales, purses his lips. He _supposes_ the coin and mug suddenly resurfacing in the loft did make him…think about certain things, even if he most definitely didn’t ask for Winston to ‘prank’ him and he’d probably have come to the same conclusions without it happening.

“Okay, okay, okay. Fine. If I make ya the drinks, will you leave me alone for the rest of the day?”

There’s a beat of silence then, apart from the sound of all three of them laughing _at_ him and exchanging gleeful high-fives, but then Jess narrows her eyes slightly, tilts her head curiously.

  
“So…tell me more about these pranks.”

“They weren’t pranks—”

“—Yes, they were. Wait, I made a binder where I explained how everything was going to work. I can go and get it, if you want.”

“Um, _yes_. You know I love a good binder!”

Nick widens his eyes, shakes his head fast, because yeah, maybe he isn’t entirely sure what today holds, but he knows for _sure_ that he doesn’t want to sit around sifting through an entire binder (why is he friends with Winston again?) about him and Jess. Things are too...new for that.

“Help me,” he silently mouths to Aly. “ _Help me_.”

Aly glances between him and Winston, expression completely neutral, and for a terrifying second, he thinks she’s going to leave him to suffer, but then her eyes soften and she pats Winston on the shoulder, tugging him up and away.

“Bishop, let’s leave the binder for now. I, uh, I need to get something from the grocery store,” she says eventually, and he makes a mental note to buy Aly an extra nice Christmas present this year. Like, maybe three burritos instead of just two. (side-note: burritos = safe Christmas present. They’ve never failed him.) “Also, why haven’t you thrown that binder away? I thought we talked about this! You _know_ I hate pranks.”

…and then, it’s him and Jess again, all alone in the loft, but she’s still holding his hand, and everything feels less strange than it did earlier, and he’s still _not afraid_.

“So…farmers' market?”

Jess grins, leans across the table to kiss him, and yeah, there’s plenty of things that they still need to talk about and unravel, but it’s—it’s all going to work out. It has to, because he's in love with her, and that's not going to change.


	3. jess; woodworking and free samples

It’s…surreal, doing all these normal, domestic-type things with Nick again, in a way that makes her heart flip uncontrollably every time that she meets his eyes. It’s definitely not the first time that they’ve had breakfast together or gone to the farmers’ market, but, after the past few months, after _Reagan_ , it’s hard to believe that he’s actually here with her, casually reaching for her hand and dropping kisses on her forehead like it’s something that he does every single day. She can’t help but keep sneaking glimpses over at him when she’s sure he’s not looking, just to reassure herself that he really is here and that this is real. It feels a bit like coming home but jumping off a cliff all at the same time; comfortable but nerve-wracking, and her heart feels so incredibly full, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She’s not sure what comes next and she doesn’t have a plan (not even a single _note card_ – and that’s really something, considering she’d just bought a fresh pack of blank note cards and a brand-new set of glitter pens that are itching to be used), and while she’d normally be uneasy about that because that’s just not the type of person she is, this time, she’s weirdly _okay_ with just…doing things and seeing what happens.

Here’s the thing too: she knows Nick is just as nervous as she feels, even if he hasn’t directly addressed it with words. He’s always been easy for her to read and she can tell, just from the way his eyes keep glazing over ever so slightly when he’s not preoccupied with teasing her or grumbling about her driving habits (“Nick, there’s a speed limit for a reason! It’s not just a suggestion!”), his forehead furrowed as he gets lost in his own thoughts. What she’s quickly realising though is that this person beside her is a far cry from the Nick who she dated (and _loved_ ) all the way back then, because while he’s clearly nervous about this new dynamic between them, he doesn’t seem to be panicking one bit. She doesn’t even think he’s the same Nick that she’d left several weeks ago, the Nick who’d gone running (in his _sad_ hoodie – that he’d washed!) and then holed himself up in his room when his book got rejected instead of talking to anyone about it until she’d pushed him to. No, this Nick is…Nick, but also _not_ Nick. Almost like…Nick Miller 2.0? He’s being all calm and soft and sweet with her, pulling out all these unnecessary – but certainly not unwelcome – gestures like _setting the entire table_ for breakfast (with Schmidt’s fancy plates, no less) and washing up their plates without even grumbling once (and that’s a big deal: it’s _Nick_ ), and he’s told her how _crazy_ he is about her multiple times in the past 24 hours, sounding so sure about it every single time. It’s difficult to explain, but if she closes her eyes hard enough, it’s almost like the last few years didn’t even happen and they’ve always been _them_ – except, you know, it did, and they weren’t. So, yeah, all in all, this is really…surreal.

Nick makes a big dramatic show of jumping out of his side of the car and running around to open her door when she's finished parking, even though she’d been the one driving, but he semi-trips over his own feet in his haste to beat her to it, almost face-planting right in the middle of the parking lot.

“You okay there, Miller?”

Nick clears his throat, shuffles on the spot, shoots her a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, uh, I’m good,” he says, brushing himself off, and then, “let’s not talk about that ever again.”

Jess grins up at him, even though he’s avoiding looking at her, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed, and she just nudges his shoulder a bit, reaches for his hand, tugging him forward.

  
“It was very smooth,” she reassures him, laughing as he starts grimacing at her words, eyes anywhere but on her, “ _very_ charming.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles back, but he lets her slip her fingers in between his and he gives her hand a squeeze, so she knows he doesn’t really mean it.

* * *

It doesn’t take them that long to track down the caramel syrup that Schmidt requested, though she does kinda agree with Nick that he probably wouldn’t notice if they’d just gone to the grocery store and bought a generic one for the cake. She’s not really willing to take that risk though; it’s _Schmidt_ , and for all they know, he has some weird syrup tester or something. Plus, Schmidt rarely ever trusts her enough to make a cake for his parties, claiming that her tastebuds just aren’t ‘refined’ enough ("Jess, I don't just want a chocolate cake, I want pistachios, I want coffee, I want the slight hint of rose. Is that too much to ask for?"), so this is kinda a big deal and she’s touched that he’d asked, especially considering what the occasion is.

Once they’ve tracked down the syrup, they stroll around the market for a while, hand in hand. Nick gets overly excited about the free samples on display like he always does, making her swear that they’ll go around and collect _every single one_ possible before they leave (“it’ll be like, a bar crawl, but for samples!” he tells her excitedly, though, yeah, she’d kinda got that connection when he’d started laying out his plan to her a good ten minutes ago and she always feels kinda bad taking samples if she’s not actually going to buy the product). She lets him tug her around without any complaints though, because he’s so genuinely enthusiastic about it, even going as far as to come up with a bizarrely complicated rating system for every sample he digests. She likes seeing him like this: all care-free and happy and _himself_.

  
“Hey, can I help—Jess _?_ ”

She turns slightly at the sound of her name, tears her eyes away from where Nick is carefully nibbling on a block of cheese, eyes closed as he focuses, glancing up.

“I thought that was you! We’ve really missed you at class – you should drop by one day!” The man continues, smiling widely at her as she meets his eyes, and she can’t help but smile back. It’s been a while since she’s seen him, and they had become sort-of-friends (if that was even possible) during that period of her life: having to make a table with someone using your own bare hands kinda bonds you forever. There had been a lot of splinters and sweating and cathartic hammering involved.

Nick’s by her side then, cheese apparently eaten, frowning in slight confusion.

“You were in Jess' writing class?”

“No, woodworking class,” he replies, before glancing between them. “Is this your boyfriend? You never mentioned him!”

Jess swallows hard at that, averts her eyes, because it’s not even been a whole day yet and she’s not sure she’s ready for the woodworking talk, let alone the boyfriend talk. It's too soon; too fresh. Going down that road is only going to end up with one of them running – or, in Nick's case, _moonwalking_ – away, and she can’t deal with that, not when she’s only just got him again.

“Um, so, what are you selling here?” She asks instead, swiftly changing the subject, ignoring the fact that she can feel Nick’s eyes burning holes into the side of her head.

* * *

Nick’s shooting her a weird look as they finally move on and she steadfastly continues looking ahead, chewing on her bottom lip, because they’d been doing _so well_ all morning, but this is the moment when he finally cracks and panics, right? This is the moment when he changes his mind, realises that he doesn’t actually want to be with her, realises that this is all just him dealing with his breakup and latching onto her because it’s easy—

“—Jess, when did you take up _woodworking_?”

She blinks.

“What?”

“Woodworking. When did you take up woodworking.” Nick repeats, and he’s tugging on her hand a little now, insistently enough that she stills, and okay, it turns out that he’s _not_ panicking over the unexpected boyfriend mention and she files that fact away for further analysis later.

His question registers properly in her head then, and suddenly _she’s_ the one who’s inwardly flustered (or, maybe she’s the only one here that’s flustered at all?), memories of that period of her life flashing through her subconscious: the woodworking phase, the getting-really-ripped-at-the-gym phase, the learning Portuguese phase. The rational part of her brain knows that they should probably talk about it, get everything out on the table and clear the air, but she doesn’t want to, not today. She just wants one single day where they can just enjoy being together, without having to deal with everything else, because—she knows Nick and she knows herself, and serious conversations were never their forte when they were together.

( _"If we needed to talk about feelings, they would be called talkings!"_ )

Nick’s still looking at her though, the beginnings of a frown starting to twist at his lips, and she forces herself to exhale, averts her gaze just a bit.

“A while ago. Don’t worry about it,” she says slowly, evasively, and then tries her best to change the subject, pointing at the stand directly behind him, tugging on his hand a bit. “Hey, look over there! More samples!”

Nick doesn’t take the bait though, simply narrows his eyes at her.

“I have never seen you woodwork in my entire life,” he counters, and now he’s kinda squeezing her hand pretty tight and he’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and she knows she’s not going to be able to distract him from this conversation.

“I tried it out a while ago,” she tells him again, voice a little flat, because it’s the _truth,_ and he starts pulling his trademark Nick Miller turtle face at her, squinting at her as if she’s gone insane.

“Jess, what the hell are you talking about?” he says, shaking his head at her, scoffing slightly. “We live across the hallway from one another. I think I would have noticed if you suddenly started woodworking. I mean, admittedly, I’m not the most observant guy, but I’d have noticed _that_.”

She swallows hard, but she doesn’t say anything, slowly letting go of his hand and staring down at the floor instead, because…well, here’s the thing: he _didn’t_ notice. She understands why – after all, he was all the way in New Orleans and busy trying to figure things out with Reagan and writing an entire novel – and she doesn’t resent him for any of it because he was so excited and genuinely happy and that’s all she’ll ever want for him. …but he never really called her when he was away, failed to notice that she’s been utterly miserable for months, kept asking her to help him out with all his Reagan problems. He’d apologised for it, in part, when they were in the elevator last night, but it all still kinda stings and unnerves her in a way that’s very real, even though she knows it’s unfair for her to blame him for any of it. It’s not really his fault; not entirely. He hadn’t called her when he was away, but she didn’t try to call him either because she hadn’t wanted to hear about what he was up to with Reagan. He hadn’t noticed that she’d been miserable because she’d done everything she could to hide her feelings from him. He’d come to her with all his problems because they’ve always been friends and she’d never told him not to. He’d stayed with Reagan for as long as he did because she'd kept interfering and pushing them together.

“Come on, Jess. You ask me to build your IKEA furniture for you _every single time_ , there’s no way that you’ve been secretly woodworking without me knowing.”

Jess licks her lips, swallows again, but she continues staring at the floor, a little unsure of what she should say. It’s just, she really does believe him when he says that he loves her, knows deep down that he’d never just throw those words around unless he didn’t mean it, but, yet…

But, yet…

“Hey, what’s…what’s going on?” Nick asks, his voice softer now, and she knows without looking up that he’s running a hand through his hair, forehead ever so slightly damp. “I take it back,” he tries, his tone a little teasing, nudging at her shoulder lightly. “I fully believe that you’ve been woodworking. Jessica Day: woodworker extraordinaire.”

She lifts her head up at that, gives him a weak smile at his attempt.

“Jess, you know you can talk to me, right? About anything.” Nick says then, gently reaching out and tipping her chin up until he’s staring straight into her eyes.

She forgets her train of thought for a second, because this is Nick 2.0 again, materialising right in front of her. She’d known he’d changed and matured over the years, of course, but not _this_ much. He’s being so weirdly open and patient with her, even though she knows that it can’t be easy for him, and despite everything, despite this entire situation they’re currently in, it makes her heart expand because he’s trying _for her_.

“Look, Jess, I know I’m not great at this stuff,” he says then, scratching the back of his neck a little awkwardly, and hey, there’s her old, familiar Nick again, shuffling slightly in a way that makes her smile despite the seriousness of the conversation they’re having. “But I do want to talk about this. I mean it. I want to talk about all the _stuff_ , ya know?”

Jess nods, takes a breath, and Nick just squeezes her hand where his fingers are all tangled up with hers, waiting for her to speak.

“When you were in New Orleans with Reagan, I, um, I took on a lot of hobbies to distract myself from...everything and woodworking was one of them,” she admits slowly, softly, scuffing her shoe on the ground a little. She doesn’t glance up, half-afraid to see his reaction, her heart clenching in her chest as she remembers what it had been like: trying not to think about Nick across the hallway with his perfect, beautiful girlfriend, trying to convince herself that she had to let him go or she’d risk losing him entirely, trying to _move on_.

“Oh,” she hears him say, his voice quiet and distant.

“Yeah.”

It’s silent for a while, neither of them moving, until she manages to gather enough courage to quickly sneak a peek at him through her eyelashes. He’s just staring right at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes, and it makes her heart clench all over again.

“Don’t do that,” she says, slowly crossing her arms defensively as she lifts her head properly, because she doesn’t want his pity or guilt or whatever that look in his eyes is. It is what it is, and she doesn’t really want to revisit it, not when they’ve overcome so much and they’ve found their way back to each other again.

Nick shakes his head at her, ducks down slightly so that he’s looking straight into her eyes, reaching out to cup her face, and she hates herself a little for it, but she finds herself leaning into his touch instinctively because his hands are so warm and solid and _there_. 

“Jess, I’m sorry,” he tells her, closes his eyes briefly, and his voice is all hoarse and earnest when he speaks again. “I know I’ve said this already, but I really am sorry. For everything.”

She smiles then, twists her head slightly in his grip and presses a kiss against his palm.

“It’s okay,” she says when she looks up at him again, and she really means it. He’s here, isn’t he? He's here and he loves her and she loves him.

Nick holds her gaze for a second, searching her face, but then he smiles back tentatively, ducks his head down to kiss her properly, one hand sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him as if he’s never going to let go. She’s missed this; the way that he always kisses with his entire body like he needs to feel every inch of her, his arms circling around her back, hands shifting from her shoulders, hair, waist as if he can’t decide. They’re both breathing hard when they separate, just staring up at one another, and she’s not sure if she should say something – _anything –_ to lighten the mood so that they can go back to the easy, comfortable vibe they had going earlier this morning. Before she can get any words out though, Nick just drops a kiss on her forehead and pulls her into a hug, arms tight around her waist. She buries her face into his shoulder, breathes in, and she feels the tension slowly alleviate from her chest as she relaxes. They've had a long twisted path to get to where they are now, but this is Nick, and he's worth all of that.

“So…are ya any good?”

She blinks, tilts her head a little, shuffles slightly in his grip so that she can shoot him a questioning look.

“At woodworking.”

“Well, I think I’ll probably be able to build my own IKEA furniture from now on, so…” She trails off, gives him a nonchalant shrug.

Nick frowns in response, a look of mock outrage crossing over his face, and he loosens his grip and takes a slight step backwards.

“That hurts, Jessica,” he says, though his lips are twitching as he says it, almost as if he’s trying to hold in a smile. “You know I love that stuff.”

Nick holds his hand out to her then, up in the air, palm facing her, almost like he wants her to high-five him. She raises an eyebrow, looks at him questioningly, but he just shrugs at her, continues holding his hand in the air.

“Serious conversation successfully navigated,” he declares, as way of explanation, a hint of pride in his tone, and she gives him half an eyeroll, because _really_?

“Too soon?”

She laughs then, head thrown back a bit, because this is _her_ Nick again, all adorably awkward, face crumpled.

“Yeah, too soon!”

She raises her hand to high-five him anyway because it’s only polite and Jessica Day is nothing if not polite. Nick catches her hand as she does, intertwining their fingers together, all confident and smooth. He starts tugging her forward, but she just tugs him back, slides onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss against his cheek, smiling at the look of surprise that crosses his face.

“You did good, Miller,” she tells him, chuckling as he smirks a little, looking overly pleased with himself.

He's not exactly the same Nick that he was, but the more time that passes, the more she thinks that they might be more on the same page than they ever have been before.


	4. nick; flour fights and killer sharks

He thinks about it a lot, gets in his head a little. He tries not to, because Jess seems all smiley and relaxed again, arm looped loosely around his as she tugs him in different directions, but it’s difficult to wrap his head around the fact that she’s been struggling to deal with her feelings for him since _New Orleans_ , and he’d had absolutely no idea. He’d figured out that she’d gone to Portland because of him, thanks to his trusty detective skills and (too) many balls of yarn, but he hadn’t quite realised that it stretched back so far. Moments from the past year start flashing in his subconscious as he mulls over what Jess had confessed, except he doesn’t let them disappear; instead, he lets the memories linger, reanalysing every word, every look, every gesture: the way she’d looked at him at Schmidt and Cece’s wedding when she’d insisted that he was incredible, the way she’d been all squirrelly around him when he’d come home from New Orleans, the way she’d smiled at him when he’d told her that he’d dedicated his book to her, the way she’d been so supportive of his writing, sneaking in copies of it into her school’s library without even blinking twice. It seems so unbelievably obvious when he looks back on everything that’s happened, but, yet, up until several days ago, he’d been mostly clueless; clueless enough that he’d almost pushed her too far and lost her entirely.

If Jess realises that he’s in his head (and she probably does, because she’s always somehow known him better than he knows himself), she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she just gives him a soft smile whenever she meets his eyes, squeezes his arm a little tighter, continues pushing him _forward_. He shakes his head slightly, concentrates on the feel of her arm against his and focuses on not slipping into his old habits and getting too lost in the past. He probably should have figured everything out sooner and he hates knowing that she’s been struggling with living across the hall from him for months, but…it’s happened, it’s done, and there’s not much he can do to fix it now. All he can do is apologise a million times and be the best version of himself he can be. Prove to her it was worth it.

He’s feeling a little bit more like himself when they get back to the loft, supplies for the party all bought and unloaded. Jess starts pulling weighing scales and bowls out of various cupboards, and he just settles himself on a stool across the counter, watching her work. She turns to him then, hands on her hips as she stares at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What are you doing over there?”

“What?”

Jess rolls her eyes at him, lips ever so slightly quirked, beckoning him over.

“You want me to…help ya?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” she says, smirking down at him as if it’s obvious, but it’s not.

He’s watched Jess bake a million times over the years, but she’s always shooed him out of the kitchen area (“Nick, _get out!_ Stop licking everything! You’re making a mess!”), and eventually, he’d gotten used to just perching across the counter from her like he’s doing now, far enough that he wasn’t in her way, but close enough that she’d sneak him bites of chocolate and cookie dough in between humming to herself.

Jess clears her throat then, still half-smirking at him, and he slowly rises from his seat and walks around the counter, scratching the back of his neck a little. It’s _weird_ being this side of the counter with her, almost poignant somehow, because they’ve never baked a cake together even though they've lived together for years, but…here they are. His mind flashes back briefly to several weeks ago when he’d asked her to bake a sheet cake with him when he’d lost his appetite before Socalyalcon VI and she’d shouted that _it_ _wasn’t fair_ and _she wasn’t going to do the girlfriend stuff anymore_. Her words hit him in an entirely different way now that he knows what he knows and that she had actually meant that it was unfair to her and not unfair to Reagan. He’s oddly nervous, standing here next to her, even though it’s just a cake, but he’s also not backing down or running away. This is what he wants; he wants to do all this stuff, all the girlfriend stuff, with _Jess_. Probably always has. He’s pretty sure that Jess knows what he’s thinking about because she’s no longer smirking up at him; instead, she’s looking at him almost shyly, blushing, uncharacteristically silent.

“Let’s bake this cake, Day,” he tells her as he meets her eyes, rolling up his sleeves, his heart flipping in his chest as he’s rewarded with a wide smile and a bag of flour pushed into his chest.

* * *

He remembers halfway through trying to accurately weigh out the flour that the reason why he never bakes is because there are too many steps and the flour goes everywhere and it takes _too long_ (oh, and because he’s undeniably terrible at it). This time is different though; this time, he has Jess beside him, her arm gently looped around his waist as he gradually pours out the flour, teasing him as half of it still finds its way outside of the bowl no matter how hard he focuses (“seriously, Nick? The bowl is right there. How are you getting it in your hair?!”). He swipes his hand straight through the flour at that, ignores her protests and presses a messy hand to her cheek until he’s the one laughing at _her_. Jess shakes her head at him, but she’s smiling that little secretive smile of hers, the one she reserves especially for him, and grabs a handful of flour and throws it back at him. He just shrugs at her, blows up a little to displace some of the flour from his face, smiling at the sound of Jess’ chuckling, all light and musical. He’s in the middle of debating whether he should throw flour back when Jess’ phone rings, and she gently turns away from him and reaches for it, though she makes sure to wipe her hands on his shirt first (“hey, not cool, Jessica!”)

Jess tries to wordlessly give him instructions as she answers the phone, her hands moving fast and pointing at various bowls. He honestly has no idea what she wants him to do though so he just gives her another shrug and continues weighing out flour, though he’s dimly aware that he probably has way too much now because the bowl is on the verge of overflowing. Jess smiles fondly at him as she watches, sits herself down on the counter opposite him, and it almost feels like a weird Freaky Friday situation, where they’ve switched places and he’s the one baking _her_ cakes.

“Hi, Dad,” Jess says into the phone, her eyes glazing over slightly. “Yeah, everything’s good. I’m…I’m great.”

She hums under her breath then, brow furrowing slightly as she continues listening. Nick shoots her a questioning look, mouths _‘is everything okay?’_ , but Jess just nods at him.

“No, I, um, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she continues, turning slightly so that he can’t see her face anymore, her voice falling quieter. “No, it’s not that he doesn’t want—I haven’t asked him. …because! It’s just—it’s not a good idea.”

Nick frowns at that, and he decides to walk around the counter because he’s pretty sure that she’s talking about him but he’s not sure what the context is. He crouches down slightly so that he’s eye-level with her, gently placing a hand on her knee to get her attention.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Jess meets his eyes, chewing gently on her bottom lip, and he reaches up and wipes off the last bit of flour from her cheek, waiting patiently for her to speak.

“Nothing,” Jess says, covering the mouthpiece for a second, and he raises an eyebrow at her because that was clearly not _nothing._ “My dad just, um, he wants to talk to you, but…you really don’t have to.”

Nick blinks twice, but then he makes a decision, wipes his hands on his jeans in an attempt to remove as much flour as possible (except, it kinda makes everything worse? How does that work?) and holds out his hand for the phone. He knows for a fact that Bob doesn’t like him because Bob has personally told him that on many occasions, but he’s not terrified of the guy, not anymore; at least, not as much as he used to be. He’s in love with Jess, and deep-down, he knows that he’s going to be in love with her for the _rest of his life_ , so he might as well try and get on Bob’s good side. Or, at least, neutral side?

Jess looks at him in surprise, brow a little furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, reaching for the phone and placing it to his ear, but he doesn’t speak, not at first, because Jess is still staring at him anxiously, biting on her lip. He shoots her a reassuring smile and gently nudges her towards the abandoned flour bowl, before walking away and seating himself on the couch.

“Hey, Bob,” Nick says slowly, then starts panicking. Why is he doing this to himself on purpose? “How, uh, how are you? How's your...toe? Or, uh, thumb? Still intact? Still have all ten fingers? All ten toes? If not, I'm pretty sure that there are transplants for that sort of thing nowadays, so, you know, I'm sure you'll be fine.”

There’s a pause on the other end, but Nick knows that he’s still there because he can hear his breathing, all heavy and deliberate, and he mentally braces himself because he has a suspicion that this isn't going to go the way he wants it to go. (Also, why is he talking about _toe transplants_? Miller, pull yourself together.)

“You’re an idiot.”

He blinks, taken aback. So much for…getting on his good side.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Bob says, clearly irritated, and he guesses that's kinda fair. “I’m not gonna pretend to understand why Jess loves you the way that she does, because if it were up to me, you would not be anywhere near her, but—if you hurt her again, I swear I will fly out to California and murder you. Feed you to the sharks until there’s nothing left of your body.”

Nick swallows, winces. He wouldn’t put it pass Bob to murder him, though the guy really needs to start reading up on sharks because sharks don’t even like eating people. Force-feeding him to sharks doesn’t sound like a good time for anyone: him _or_ the sharks.

“I couldn’t even get her to leave the house for ice-cream when she was in Portland and Jess loves ice-cream,” he continues, and now he’s half yelling, loud enough that Nick has to hold the phone slightly away from his ear because he’s blowing the speaker out. “Do you know how much Jess loves ice-cream?”

Nick swallows again, purses his lips. Jess really _does_ love ice-cream, especially when she’s upset about something, and so he knows that she must have been an entirely different level of upset if she’d turned it down. He’s never coped well with seeing Jess sad, even when they barely knew each other and they were just two strangers who happened to live across the hall from one another, and hearing how miserable she’s been because of _him_ from someone who witnessed it makes him feel gut-wrenchingly awful all over again.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Nick says quietly, voice a touch hoarse.

Bob lets out a deep sigh then, and he’s pretty sure that if they were having this conversation in person, he’d be strangling him right about now.

“I’m in love with her,” he states slowly, as solemnly as he can, almost like a promise.

“You better be, Nick. You. Better. Be.”

Bob hangs up on him then, leaving him silently brooding over his words. He knows that realistically he couldn’t have done anything differently because dating Reagan was what made him reassess what he really wanted out of his relationships in the first place, but a big part of him wishes that he’d figured out everything sooner; that he’d been there for Jess.

“Everything okay?”

He glances up at the sound of Jess’ voice, rubs a hand roughly over his face, and gets up to his feet, nodding at her once.

“Are you sure?” Jess asks again, biting her bottom lip, shooting him a worried look. “Hey, my dad didn’t get in your head, did he? If he did, don’t listen to him, he’s just being…overprotective.”

“Nope, everything’s fine,” he tells her, tries to give her a reassuring smile as he walks over and gently pries the whisk from her hands, starting to stir the mixture in the bowl even though he’s not entirely sure that’s what he’s supposed to be doing.

It’s just, well, he’s not sure what he _should_ say about it. He’s apologised multiple times, and that’s—that’s all he can really do. He can’t go back in time and redo everything, no matter how much he wants to, and even if he could, he doesn’t regret his relationship with Reagan. Reagan made him realise a lot of things about himself that he’s not sure he would have figured out otherwise, and he’s genuinely glad that he met her. He just wishes he could have had all his self-revelations in a way that hadn’t hurt Jess this much.

Jess eyes him for a second, still chewing on her bottom lip, and for a moment, it feels like they’ve been transported back to several years ago when they were both kids; when he’d tried his hardest to live up to everyone’s expectations and do the right thing, but still ended up blowing everything with her spectacularly anyway. He’s not going to let that happen this time though. This is _it_ for him; she’s _it_.

“Okay,” Jess says slowly after a beat, then shoots him a smile, the spark gradually returning in her eyes. “I believe you.”

( _“Say you believe me, please.”_ )

He smiles back, feeling himself relax. He’s pretty sure that she knows exactly what her dad had said on the phone and what’s currently going through his mind, and he thinks he might love her even more for not making him apologise all over again because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to find the correct words to make things right.

“You can stop whisking though,” she says then, nudging at his shoulder, and he glances down to realise that he’s been slowly swirling the whisk around this whole time. “Seriously, Nick, you can stop. You’re going to overmix it.”

He blinks, scoffs a little, and just like that, things are back to normal again, and she’s trying to pry the whisk away from him, while he just twists his body away from her.

  
“How can you _overmix_ cake batter? That’s not a real thing.”

She squints at him, tilts her head, looks at him with that challenging glint in her eyes that he’s seen countless times before.

“You definitely can, and it _definitely_ is.”

“Agree to disagree,” he retorts, but he purposefully loosens his grip on the whisk anyway, lips quirking at the look of smug satisfaction on her face as she successfully wrangles it from him.

* * *

The atmosphere is noticeably lighter after that. They manage to successfully bake Schmidt’s cake, though Jess (not so) politely kicks him out of the kitchen when it comes to the decorating part because he won't stop eating the syrup directly from the jar (“hey, it’s _organic_ syrup, Jess. It’s healthy!”) He slumps himself down on the couch instead, putting on a rerun of _The Walking Dead_ as he listens to Jess sing to herself in the background, feeling weirdly content. It’s crazy to think that just two days ago, he’d still been struggling to figure out why Jess wasn’t calling him back and trying to pull it together enough to read his book aloud at a reading, and now Jess is here, decorating a cake that they baked _together_ , and his book might be getting published. It’s even crazier to think that before yesterday, they had barely spoken to one another in weeks and she’d been going through all this stuff that he hadn’t known about and she’d almost moved out of the loft without telling him. What would have happened if he’d gotten back to the loft one minute too late? Would she have just…left like she’d planned? Believed that he didn’t feel the same way and never come back?

Jess curls up next to him on the couch once she’s done, and he immediately slides an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. By this point, he knows that this is real, but it still feels a little bit like an out-of-body experience after so much time apart. Jess nestles into his side, drops a kiss onto his shoulder, then leans back, eyes fixed on the screen. It’s silent for a while, the sound of zombies growling playing through the television, but he’s not really paying attention, partly because he’s watched this episode enough times (with Jess, in fact) to know it off by heart and partly because he’s still distracted by all his thoughts from earlier.

“I missed ya,” he says softly, squeezes her arm slightly to get her attention.

Jess lifts her head at his words, twisting in his grip so that she can meet his eyes and shoots him an unreadable look.

“You’ve spent all day with me, Miller,” she jokes lightly, reaching up and ruffling a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he agrees; then, a bit more meaningfully, widening his eyes to try and convey the complicated emotions currently running through his head, “but I _missed_ ya.”

It falls silent again, Jess slowly turning back to stare at the television screen as if he hadn’t spoken at all. He’s just about to refocus his attention on the action playing in front of his eyes when she speaks again, voice so quiet that he almost misses it.

“I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it, you know,” she admits. “I would have always come back.”

“Yeah?”

Jess nods, slides her arm around his waist, curling up properly against him, her eyes still fixed on the screen in front of them.

“Even if I hadn’t gotten the answer that I wanted, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away. Not forever.”

Nick smiles softly, ducks down and presses a kiss on the top of her head, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

“It’s you and me now, kid,” he tells her. “You and me.”


	5. jess; pepperwood fanfiction and sticky hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you haven't read Part 1, you may want to before continuing. Nick talked to so many people (!) in Part 1 that it's kinda impossible for me not to reference those conversations! Again, it's not strictly essential, but it will help!**

They’re still sitting on the couch when Winston and Aly return to the loft, though they’re no longer watching _The Walking Dead_ ; instead, Nick’s got his laptop perched precariously on his lap as he jots down ideas for his Pepperwood prequel, while she pretends to be watching whatever romcom movie she’d clicked on, though she’s mostly just watching him work out of the corner of her eye. She’s always believed in him, and she’s always thought that he was talented, but it still amazes her to see just how far he’s come. _Z is for Zombies_ was all over the place, full of typos, chaotic plot devices and poorly crafted word searches, but _The Pepperwood Chronicles_ is the opposite: it’s complex and smart, with an ambitious plot and fully fleshed out characters. It’s honestly an incredible piece of writing, and every time she sees one of her Pepperwood prototypes lying around the loft or gets to watch him work, a pencil propped carelessly behind his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration, she feels so overwhelmingly proud of him all over again.

“You’re staring, Jess,” Nick comments lightly, his voice cutting through her thoughts, though his eyes are still fixed on his screen and his hands are moving over the keyboard as he continues typing.

She blushes, swiftly averting her eyes back to the television.

“Wasn’t complaining,” he says, and then, raises his head up and smirks a little, his eyes finding hers as she glances back at him. “Enjoying the view?”

Jess shrugs nonchalantly at him, though she's still blushing, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

“Not sure,” she says thoughtfully, unable to stop herself from smiling as Nick immediately frowns and pulls a face. “I mean, I guess you’re _okay—_ ”

“—Take that back, Jessica,” he cuts in, and then she’s laughing wholeheartedly because Nick’s suddenly shoved his laptop to the side and he’s reaching for her, fingers firm around her wrists.

She grins, laughing a bit harder as he repeats his words, his mouth curved downwards, and she leans into him and kisses him softly until his features relax, smiling as his eyes flutter closed. It’s almost been an entire day now, but everything still feels surreal, almost like she’s drifting through the most vivid, breathtaking dream of her life. After all these months of wanting to be with him, living so close yet so far away, it’s the best kind of strange to be able to do all of this with him: to be able to joke with him freely like they used to, without constantly questioning whether she’s overstepping invisible, unspoken lines, to do all the girlfriend stuff like baking cakes with him, to reach up and kiss him like she’s thought about doing so many times.

“Hey,” Winston greets, walking in to the loft then with Aly behind him. “Hate to interrupt, but—Nick, did you get _the_ _goods_?”

“Don’t call it ‘the goods’,” Nick retorts immediately, his face automatically scrunching up as he eyes Winston warily over her shoulder. “But…yeah, we did.”

Winston glances over the counter at where Nick’s now pointing, letting out a high-pitched squeal (and is that..a dance of some sorts?) as he sees the box filled to the brim with various spirits and paper umbrellas.

“You’re being super weird already, man, and I haven’t even made you a drink yet,” Nick grumbles, still with that scrunched up face. She grins at the sight, gently reaching out and smoothing her palm across his cheek, her smile widening as he instantly relaxes into her hold out of sheer instinct.

“Can’t help it,” Winston replies gleefully, rummaging through the box and sticking an umbrella behind his ear. “You’ve got magical hands, my friend. _Magical_.”

A pause.

“What?!”

“Um.”

“Bishop…”

“—I would like to retract that statement,” Winston says, clearing his throat, tilting his head as he reconsiders his choice of words.

“ _Please_.”

Aly shakes her head fondly at Winston, a slight smirk twisting at her lips, and then turns to them.

“Are you two okay to leave in an hour? Guess we can all carpool to Schmidt and Cece’s?”

They nod in agreement, and then watch in amusement as Aly attempts to drag Winston towards their room even though he’s now elbow deep in coconut shells and curly straws, whistling chirpily to himself.

“What have I done, Jess? What have I done?”

Jess chuckles, shrugs a little.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” she tries to reassure him, though her mind flashes back to the last time that Nick agreed to make cocktails for Winston and he’d refused to let anyone go to sleep until they’d all watched him and Furguson dance a two hour routine. _In costume_. “Well, actually, I don’t know that, but if it makes you feel any better, I promise to sit through any impromptu performances with you?”

Nick smiles at that, the frown on his face slowly disappearing, and he lets her tug him to his feet.

“That’s all I want,” he says, and he sounds so _sure_ about it that it makes her heart expand for the hundredth time today. “You, me, and…Winston and his cat.”

“…No Schmidt?”

Nick shrugs and looks like he’s actually thinking about it, though they both know that he’d never leave Schmidt behind.

“I _guess_ he can be there too. And Tran. And Aly. And Cece.”

She laughs, shakes her head at him a little, and then starts leading him towards the hallway.

“Come on, Miller, let’s get dressed for this party,” she says, though she immediately turns back around as Nick suddenly stops moving, frozen in place, making it impossible for her to pull them along.

“I _am_ dressed,” Nick states, looking down at himself, his expression perplexed.

She raises an eyebrow at him and rolls her eyes a little, glancing at the flour that’s still in his hair and on his shirt. Nick frowns, opening his mouth to protest, but she just rolls her eyes at him again, pulling on his hand until he concedes and starts walking, grumbling all the way.

There’s a shift in atmosphere when they get to the hallway between their respective rooms though because Nick starts pulling her one way and she’s going in the other. She pauses and releases his hand, suddenly reminded that this is just day _one_ and they don’t live together like they used to and they haven’t for many years. She has her room, Nick has his, and even though it’s so, so easy to forget everything that happened and fall back into their old routines, things are different now. _New_.

“Uh, so, I guess I’m going to…go in there,” he says awkwardly, pointing towards his bedroom door.

“Yeah, I, um, I guess so,” she replies, biting her lip, suddenly weirdly nervous.

Nick reaches for her again, hands going to her hips, and he starts looking at her intensely, his eyes growing serious as he searches her face, his mouth slowly opening to say something. Her heart starts beating fast in response, blood rushing through her veins, and she thinks she has an inkling as to what he wants to say, even though it’s also the last thing that she’d expect him to say, but it’s—she _can’t_. She remembers how difficult they’d found living together all those years ago, and it’s not the right time. Not yet.

“Don’t,” she says softly, and Nick’s mouth closes again, eyeing her questioningly. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just… It’s only been one day, and I don’t want to rush this. This is too important to me.”

Nick nods, grips her hips a little tighter, pulling her towards him.

“No, you’re right. You’re right.” He says, giving her a slightly sheepish smile, and she feels herself relax in his grip, leaning into him and pressing her face into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent. “But… I _will_ ask ya one day.”

She lifts her head at that, pleasantly surprised by this new version of Nick like she’s been countless of times today, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“Deal,” she promises, and she means it. She repeats the word to herself in her bedroom as she stands in front of the pinboard he’d made, her fingers tracing the lines of blue yarn, a smile twisting at her lips.

  
( _“Someday we’ll make this work.”)_

* * *

The four of them make it to Cece and Schmidt’s house in one piece, though Winston won’t let go of the drinks box during the whole ride. It’s neither Cece nor Schmidt that open the door though, but Robby.

“Hey man,” Winston says, then swiftly pushes past Robby, brimming with excitement over the contents of the box still in his arms. Aly follows closely behind him, shooting them an apologetic look as she does so. “Nick, I’ll be waiting.”

Nick doesn’t follow immediately, lifting a hand in greeting to Robby, but Robby’s eyes have drifted downwards to where her fingers are tangled up with Nick’s other hand. She chews her bottom lip, suddenly remembering that the last guy that she dated is…Robby, as well as the small, but definitely not insignificant, fact that they’re related. And she’s kissed him. And—ugh. _No_. She'd thought she'd just about gotten over that revelation but seeing him again has made her realise that she really hasn't. Again, _ugh_.

Robby, thankfully, doesn’t bring the cousins thing up again; instead, he just glances up at Nick with a knowing smile on his face.

  
“Raisins?”

She blinks, twists around to shoot Nick a bemused look, not entirely sure what this exchange is about.

“Raisins?” 

“Yeah, _raisins_ ,” Nick replies matter-of-factly as if that word explains everything, except it doesn’t at all, and gently pushes her through the door, his hand warm and solid on her lower back.

“Nick, actually…” Robby starts, scratching his head a little awkwardly, and Nick turns back to glance at him. “I forgot to ask you this when we bumped into each other at the burrito truck the other day, but I kind of wanted to get your opinion on this, uh, story I’m writing. It’s sort of…based in the Pepperwood universe and—”

“—Wait, is this your Pepperwood fanfiction?” She cuts in, recalling the two-hundred-page draft that Robby had shown her – and painstakingly read to her – when they were ( _ugh_ ) dating.

“I mean, I’d prefer for it to be called a Pepperwood spin-off, but…yeah. It just writes itself, you know? The world’s so vivid.”

Nick grins, looking visibly flattered, and starts to follow Robby, but then he freezes in spot almost comically, glancing back at her, his eyes questioning.

“Go, Miller,” she says, waving him off, shaking her head at him fondly. Robby really loves _The Pepperwood Chronicles_ (maybe even more than she does, and that’s really saying something; he hasn’t just written fanfiction about it, but he’s got a theme tune ready in case it ever becomes a television series), and Nick deserves to know how great his book is.

* * *

She slips the cake they’d baked earlier onto the kitchen countertop before going to find Cece. It doesn’t take her too long to do so, because it turns out that Cece spotted Nick and was looking for her too. They perch themselves at the dining table, Aly coming to join them as well, and she and Aly promise that they’ll drink extra pink wine to make up for the glass of water in her hand. (She still can’t believe it: they’re having a baby! Cece! Schmidt! Her best friends!)

“So…you and Nick looked cosy earlier,” Aly states, smiling softly as she takes a sip of her wine. “Good day?”

Jess nods, glancing over at where Nick’s currently being wrangled into pouring drinks into coconut shells, his face all scrunched up as he listens to whatever Winston’s saying, while Robby starts pulling out piles of paper from his coat pockets.

“Really, really good,” she says, smiling fondly at the sight. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but he just seems…different somehow.”

Cece tilts her head and shoots her a questioning look, waiting for her to expand further.

“He’s just…more open. Weirdly talkative,” she says slowly, voicing all the thoughts that have been swirling around her head all day. “I mean, he even volunteered to speak to my dad when he called earlier, and we all know my dad doesn’t like Nick.”

Cece and Aly glance at each other and then shrug.

“Makes sense,” Aly comments, shrugging again.

“It…does?”

“He and Reagan really fell apart when you left,” Cece says, and she suddenly realises that all she really knows about their break-up is the bits and pieces that Nick had mentioned in passing because she’d stopped Cece from talking about Reagan while she was in Portland. “I mean, even when you were here, they only ever talked to each other about their problems because you interfered… When you were away, they had a big argument because Reagan got promoted and didn’t tell Nick, and I guess Nick realised that he needed more and that it wasn’t enough for him.”

“Yeah,” Aly agrees, shakes her head slightly, “…and then he left on her on a train. So, you know, there’s that.”

“He did…what?”

“He left her on a train,” Aly repeats. “His way of breaking up with her without confrontation, apparently. I mean, to give him credit, he did manage to fix everything in the end, but—yeah.”

Jess frowns, pursing her lips slightly as she processes this information. She’s not sure why Nick would ever think leaving Reagan on a train was a good idea, and it makes an unsettling feeling pool deep in her gut. She believes it when he says that he loves her, she _does_ , but at the same time, if she looks at everything logically and ignores her heart for a moment, it really hasn’t been very long since Reagan, and—

_(“Maybe, when things are going good, you get scared and you look for reasons to doubt it.”)_

“Do you think he’d…”

“No, come on, Jess, you know he’d never do that to you,” Cece interrupts, shaking her head at her, and she nods in agreement, feeling silly for even thinking it, her eyes finding Nick through the crowd again. He glances up then, as if he can feel her eyes on him, shooting her a wide smile, and she feels her fears dissipate as she returns it.

“I mean, firstly, he knows he’d be a dead man if he did, and secondly, it’s Nick. He loves you. He was acting weirdly way before he broke up with Reagan. Jess, we walked in on him drowning in yarn and cutting out pictures of you. This isn't a sudden thing for him, not completely.”

Jess nods again, her eyes still fixed on Nick.

“Yeah, no, I do know that he'd never do that to me,” she replies, because she does. “He’s just so _different_ from the Nick that I left at Socalyalcon VI. I think he was about to ask me to move in with him earlier and it’s been less than twenty-four hours. Don’t get me wrong, I love this version of Nick, I really do, but it’s just… a lot has changed in a day and I think I'm still processing everything.”

Aly hums in understanding and takes a sip of her wine before speaking, eyeing her seriously.

“I know the timing seems fast, but I saw what he was like over the past few weeks and he really did think everything through,” she says, and then raises her left hand, her engagement ring flashing in the light. “Timing isn’t everything. I mean, I was still dating Tripp when Bishop kissed me and look at us now. Just…take one day at a time and don’t overthink it.”

She nods and feels herself relax in her seat further. Things have been going great so far, and she knows she loves him, and he loves her, and yeah, she’s not sure what’s going to happen three years into the future and whether they'll be living on some lake or in intergalactic space (well, okay, she's pretty sure one is more likely than the other unless NASA makes some serious progress in the next year), but—it’s more than enough for now.

* * *

They’re interrupted from their conversation a little later by Schmidt storming up to them, a look of horror pasted on his face, all three of them shirking away slightly.

“ _Jessica_ ,” Schmidt starts, his hands on his hips, and she knows she’s probably in trouble if Schmidt’s using her full name because he rarely does that unless he’s mad, but also—she hasn’t done anything wrong? Hasn’t she spent all day focused on making the cake for him?

“Um, yes, Schmidt?”

Schmidt narrows his eyes at her, his hands still on his hips, giving off an indignant air. He takes an audible inhale, and then says a string of words all at once.

“Nick’s saying that he helped baked the cake, but, firstly, why would you ever let him touch it? It’s _Nick,_ we all know that his hands are always so disgustingly sticky, and two, is it,” he pauses for dramatic effect, though it’s really unneeded and Jess kinda wishes that they still had the jar around, “ _sanitary_?”

Jess rolls her eyes at him, shakes her head, because Schmidt can be so infuriatingly _Schmidt_ sometimes… but he’s also been a great friend to her over the past few months, helping her deal with her feelings for Nick – and avoid Nick himself – without blinking an eye, so she allows him this outburst. Just once.

  
“No-one’s forcing you to eat it, Schmidt,” she reminds him gently, but then she catches Nick’s amused grin from behind him, mouthing words that she can’t quite make out at her, and then—well, all bets are off. “I won’t lie to you though; he did put his hand in the flour _unwashed_ , swirled it around and everything—”

“—Jess _,_ how could you?!”

“Babe, she’s clearly joking,” Cece interrupts, laughing.

“…Or am I?”

“Jessica Day, I can’t believe that you would—”

Schmidt pauses then, narrow his eyes at her and trails off. Before she can say anything else, he turns around and glares at Nick, who is currently giving her a thumbs up from behind Schmidt's back, clearly enjoying watching this display.

“Nick, what are you doing? Nick. _Nicholas_ , this is all your fault.”

It’s silent for a second, and then Winston starts climbing onto the dining table despite Schmidt's protests, a coconut firmly grasped in his hand, and he’s suddenly regaling them with stories about his life, taking big, loud sips after every sentence, clearly tipsy on Nick’s drinks already. It quickly turns into a retelling of his bathtub story, and she’s confused by why it’s a _story_ all over again. (Like, seriously, he just...fell asleep in the bathtub.) Aly’s doubled up in hysterics as she listens to him though, almost choking on a mouthful of wine, and Jess glances between the two of them, her heart undeniably warm. That’s the sort of love that she wants, and for the first time in a long while, she kinda thinks that she might actually get to have it.

One day at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! :) let me know your thoughts as always! kinda nice to be finally writing scenes with the entire gang after 20+ chapters of this haha
> 
> (despite the ending of this chapter, this story will not be going one day at a time, don't worry. there are things that i want to get to and I promise this will actually have some sort of plot!)


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